


Unequal and opposite reaction

by TetrodotoxinB



Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Child Abuse, Corporal punishment of a child, Day 5, Developmentally inappropriate expectations for a child, Failed escape, Grief over the loss of a parent, Hurt/No Comfort, I am so sorry, I probably have more kids than you anyway, I will adopt him like I did with my other kids, James MacGyver's A+ parenting, No I won't debate you, Please someone bring me baby Mac, Switching, Whumptober 2020, Yes that's abuse, but we both know you're going to read this anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26817688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: Mac tries to sneak off for a playdate with Bozer instead of doing physics homework on a Sunday afternoon. James catches him and decides that he's going to make this lesson stick.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947493
Comments: 19
Kudos: 29
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Unequal and opposite reaction

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [aravenwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood) for her extreme kindness in being willing to beta all of these whumptober fills! Especially so since she's also writing her own (amazing!) fics too! Please go check her out and give her some love!!!
> 
> Thanks again to Mandi for shaking the magic title machine inside my head until the right words fell out. You're awesome! <3

“Angus, I’m going to be in my study for the next few hours. I have important work that I need to complete. You need to do your homework,” Dad instructs, already looking over one of the books he’s carrying from the den to the study. “None of that playing nonsense. It’s just wasting time. Get your homework done and then start on the next chapter of your physics book.”

Mac takes a deep breath, but knows better than to sigh. “Yes, sir.”

Dad nods but says nothing as he turns and walks away. Mac trudges back towards the den, head hung low. None of his kids in his fourth grade class have to learn thermodynamics and they get to play on the weekends. Mac’s just stuck at home with Dad. 

He flops down on the sofa, sighs, and looks out the window. Dad’ll probably be another three or four hours before he comes out. Maybe longer. Mac knows it’s a dangerous game to play. Dad caught him sneaking out once, and he promised Mac would regret it if he caught him doing it again. But then again Mac’s had several successful playdates since then and the threat doesn’t feel all that real anymore. Besides, he’ll only be gone for an hour and a half, two at the most. Dad will never know.

Mind made up, Mac puts on his shoes and slips out the front door, careful not to let the screen door bang as it shuts. He hops down the front steps, grabs his bike, and immediately feels lighter as he takes off down the drive.

Until he hears the screen door. 

“Angus MacGyver, where do you think you’re going?” Dad shouts. 

Mac’s stomach drops into his tennis shoes and he brakes hard, kicking up gravel. He turns, knowing better than to try to have a conversation by yelling, and rides back to the porch. Maybe he can still salvage this.

“I was just for a quick ride to clear my head before I do my homework. You told me I needed to stay in shape and get regular exercise. I figured since we spent all day working-”

“You figured you’d sneak out and see that Bozer boy from your class,” Dad interjects. “I told you the last time you did this that you’d regret it, and I plan to follow through with that.”

Mac hangs his head. “Yes, sir,” he answers and parks his bike.

He follows James into the living room and sits on the sofa for another dressing down. Mac’s heard it all before, he knows what’s coming — he’s lazy, arrogant, thinks he doesn’t have to work to get ahead in life, wants to take the easy way out, he’s wasting his potential, he’s irresponsible, he’s never going to amount to anything if he doesn’t get it together. It’s the same stuff Dad says every time Mac screws up or forgets or plain just doesn’t wanna spend five hours reading about nuclear physics on a Sunday. 

Dad doesn’t shout, though Mac kinda wishes he would. He just sounds... disappointed, like he wishes his only child would amount to more. It hurts and Mac feels small, just like he always does. It’s nothing new.

“Now Angus, do you remember our lessons on aerodynamics and botany?” Dad asks.

Mac looks up to make eye contact and nods. “Yes, sir.”

“What gives trees the ability to withstand high winds?”

Mac swallows. “Many species of trees have pliability and elasticity in their limbs to allow for the forces of meteorological events.”

Dad nods. “And which would have more tensile strength and be more elastic — a wet limb or a dry one?”

It’s a softball question and Mac doesn’t understand why. “A wet branch.”

“Why?” Dad presses. 

“A wet one because the higher turgidity maintains the internal structure of the cells. The rigidity of the cell walls is what contributes to the tensile strength and elasticity of the plant,” Mac answers.

“Well at least you haven’t forgotten that,” Dad huffs. “Now, armed with that information, take the kitchen shears, go out into the backyard, and cut yourself a switch.”

Mac’s mouth gapes open involuntarily. Dad’s spanked him a couple of times before, but never hit him with anything. 

“Don’t gawp at me, Angus. Do as you’re told. You have five minutes or you’ll regret it,” Dad warns.

It takes Mac a second longer to process the turn of events, and then he’s scrambling off the sofa, hurtling towards the kitchen for the shears. They have a few trees in the backyard, most of them too tall for Mac to cut a switch from. But there are the crape myrtles and the apple tree Mom planted before she died. Mac knows that if he doesn’t come back with a switch, there’ll be hell to pay, but the thought of cutting a switch from one of Mom’s trees makes him want to cry. It’s just an excuse, Dad would say. Sentimental nonsense. Mac swallows hard and blinks to stem the tears that threaten to fall as he cuts a thin, flexible branch from the apple tree.

Dad is waiting on the sofa when Mac comes in. Mac hands him the switch and tries not to think about Dad using Mom’s trees this way. After a moment of testing the branch, bending it this way and that and swishing it menacingly through the air a few times, James stands. 

“Pants down to your knees, and lie over the arm of the sofa,” he orders.

Mac’s too old for Dad to see him with his pants down. He hasn't needed help bathing or showering for years. It’s embarrassing. But Dad clearly doesn’t care, and Mac knows better than to argue so he walks to the sofa, undoes his pants, and pulls them down. 

The arm of the sofa feels prickly and rough against his belly and privates, and he wants to squirm, but Dad’s hand firmly on the small of his back quashes that impulse. 

“Stay still and count,” Dad orders.

Mac’s embarrassment gives way to sudden fear. He’d known this was a punishment and therefore would obviously hurt, but the shock of his father’s request for a switch became grief for his mother, which turned to embarrassment when he had to lower his pants. It’s only as he hears the _swish_ of the switch through the air that Mac fully realizes this is going to hurt. A lot.

He yelps with the first strike, a bright hot burn across the backs of his legs. 

“Count,” Dad growls, and Mac bleats out an obedient, “One.”

After that Dad sets up a rhythm, giving Mac only just long enough to count before laying yet another stripe across his exposed skin. It hurts, so much more than a bare-handed spanking, and tears run down Mac’s face. He wants to cry and scream but if he loses count Dad might make him start over and that fear keeps his focus on the switching.

Finally, at a count of twenty, Dad stops. Mac’s fingers are bunched so tightly into the sofa cushion that he has trouble relaxing them. It’s not that he wants to stand up, he’d like a moment to collect himself, but Dad is waiting. So Mac hauls himself upright and rights his pants — gasping as he does so — and wipes his eyes.

“Now, are you planning to go waste time with your friend again, Angus?” Dad asks.

Mac shakes his head and sniffles. “No, sir.”

“I hope you remember this because if you don’t, the next time we’ll use my belt,” Dad threatens. 

Mac’s eyes go wide. “I understand, sir,” he says, his voice still wavering as he tries to hold in his sobs.

“Good, now go sit at the table. I expect you to finish the chapter on exergy by dinner.”

Mac limps to the kitchen, his pants and underwear rubbing agonizingly against the lines of white hot fire that run along his skin. Dad points to the wooden chair, the one without a seat cushion, for Mac to sit at. When he makes contact, he can’t help the pained noise he makes. Dad just glares for a moment before retreating to his study, and Mac is left alone at the table with his physics book, notebook, and a pencil.

*****

Mac finishes the chapter and all of the practice questions well before dinner, and then does his homework as well. James nods approvingly, but neither of them speaks over dinner for anything more than, “Please pass the corn,” and “Hand me the serving spoon.”

Since Mac is done with his responsibilities for the day, Dad allows Mac to go to his room early. The only reasons Mac doesn’t run are because there’s no running in the house and because he couldn’t even if he wanted to. He manages to maintain his dignity as he limps down the hall to his room to gather his pajamas and then into the bathroom. 

Pulling his pants down again is torture. Mac bites his lip as he forces his clothes down and tears run down his cheeks. Finally naked, eyes red and wet, Mac gingerly climbs onto the closed toilet lid to survey the damage in the mirror over the sink. It’s not what he expected. 

Spankings leave red, sometimes almost purple marks. The switch has left thin cuts arranged in neat lines from his butt to the backs of his knees. How could Dad do this to him? Why? Mom never hurt him. Never spanked him. Never called him mean names or told him he was lazy or worthless or hopeless. Mom explained mistakes and took him to the park to play. Mac wishes Dad had died instead of her. At least Dad would have deserved what he got.

Mac wipes at his eyes and climbs back down. His pajama pants aren’t as bad, he only has to grit his teeth to get them on. He stuffs down his anger and gets ready for bed. There’s nothing else to do and the last thing he wants is to end up in Dad’s way again. 

Back in his room, Mac carefully takes out the photo of Mom that he keeps inside the globe on his desk. Mac doesn’t remember her as well anymore, but he can remember hugs and kisses, feeling loved and warm and wanted. Dad just treats him like an unwanted responsibility. Mac hates him, hates him for everything. For Mom dying, for not saying sorry, for not being good at being a dad. 

The feelings overwhelm Mac again and he finds himself curled around her photo, feeling cold and alone, sobbing into his pillow so that Dad doesn’t hear him and come to chastise him for being too “emotional.”

He hasn’t missed her this much in so long and he cries until his head hurts. He wants to sleep with her photo but Mac knows it’s a gamble. Dad could come in to wake him up and see it. Mac doesn’t want to take the chance that Dad would take the photo or make fun of him for it. Dad already used Mom to hurt him today with the switch from her tree. He doesn’t deserve anything else of hers.

Carefully, Mac tucks the photo away and climbs back into bed. He wishes he had Bozer’s stuffed moose that he lets Mac sleep with when he stays the night. Having a stuffed animal would be nice right about now. But he doesn’t have one and there’s no use thinking about it. So Mac improvises and gets the fuzzy fleece pajama pants that he wears in the winter. He wraps them into a tight ball and snuggles them under the covers, imagining a puppy or a kitten. Someone warm and soft and loving. His bed is still empty, but eventually he imagines it long enough to calm down and drift off to sleep.


End file.
